Page 109 of Sliding Into Love
“I love you, kiddo,” she said, planting a kiss on top of his head.
“I love you, too,” he said, ducking away.
Finally,the end was upon them. Ethan dressed in his uniform, only to wait in the eerily silent locker room. His mind went completely blank. An hour or a week could’ve passed and he wouldn’t have known the difference.
This was it—the culmination of his entire life’s work, and this, the final game, would determine whether or not everything he’d been through to get to that point was worth it. Ethan had no illusions about himself as he flipped through memories like Polaroids. At times, especially in those early seasons with Marshall, when he’d still been reeling with shock and hurt and confusion, he’d been an obnoxious little shit. Even thinking about it made his skin crawl with embarrassment, and he wondered if it was too late to apologize or make up for it somehow. Maybe winning this game would be enough.My last game,Ethan thought.Better make it count.
When a noise brought him out of the slideshow of memories, Ethan glanced up to find a room full of greasepaint-streaked faces staring at him, wearing the same old mask he’d worn to terrorize their opponents. Wordlessly, Derek handed him the stick of eyeblack, and Ethan swiped it beneath his eyes and smeared it over his cheeks. Solidarity—that’s what was happening—with his teammates. Because it was clear they’d done it for him—for his finale.
An overwhelming rush of affection for these people, most of whom he barely knew, trickled through him as he stared out at their painted faces. Pretending to need to wash the paint off his hands, Ethan stole away rather than let them see how much it meant to him.
When he found himself at the mostly abandoned bank of sinks located in the locker room, Emily Harkness stared back at him, her blue eyes flinty in the mirror. She appeared to be staring herself down, giving a silent pep talk.
“Fisher,” she called as he turned to leave her to it.
Ethan took that as permission to stay.
One silvery eyebrow rose as he stepped into the puddle of light and she saw him, but she made no remarks about the black paint streaking his face.
As Ethan reached for soap, Emily fished in her pocket and retrieved a small gold tube.
“You know,” she said conversationally as Ethan scrubbed his hands, “I heard what he said.” She leaned closer to the mirror, applying a layer of bright red lipstick that he would bet perfectly matched the Hawks red lettering on his jersey. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it. Probably won’t be the last.” She didn’t scowl in the mirror, but her eyes narrowed at her reflection. “Female coach.” She let out a barking laugh. “‘Go home and cook for the men. Be a secretary. There are no women in baseball.’ That’s what they said to me.”
“That’s disgusting.” Ethan wondered what other horrible things she’d heard.
“It is. And it’s weird, but,” she paused, angling her head to swipe a finger along her bottom lip, smoothing out a nonexistent flaw in the red lipstick. “The loudest ones always seem to be the most bothered when I look like this.” She gestured to the flawless perfection she’d created on her face. She looked like she meant business, with a tiny flick of black winged liner that looked sharp enough to kill and the slash of red drawn on her mouth. With a smirk at her reflection, she glanced to Ethan. “I call it ‘blood of my enemies red’. It’s nice to imagine a bunch of men being bothered by something so menial as makeup. Plus, it matches the uniform.”
With a sharp nod, she walked out the way Ethan had entered, the weight of the final game seeming to slow her step just enough to be noticeable.
When he reentered the room where the team waited, Emily began to speak.
“Well, I see you all have your game faces on.” That got a low chuckle from most of the team. “Me too.” She gestured at her face, and someone, Jen, probably, let out a piercing whistle. For a few moments, she stood before them, briefly making eye contact as she looked out over her team.
A familiar sense of excitement jangled through Ethan’s nerves as he waited for her to continue.
“I should probably light a fire under your asses, but I’m not going to. I could talk about the other team and their coach and a million things, but I’ve watched you all grow from a bunch of assholes who played baseball together to a team. And that is whywewill win.”
The team roared in unison, banging their batting helmets together with a terrifying clash. The effect was…striking. Greasepaint-streaked faces grinned ominously around Ethan as he joined in.
“Well, I don’t know what you’ll do to the other team, but you scare the hell out of me. Let’s do this!”
Ethan’s heartpounded in his ears in time with the fireworks booming overhead.
Theywon.
His last season, his last game, his only World Series, and theywon.
He held out a hand when Harkness motioned for the team to put her down, and she gripped it tightly to steady herself as she climbed down from all the hands and shoulders supporting her.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan saw a bright orange cylinder sloshing toward them, and he knew what was about to happen, so he ducked away from her in time tomostlyavoid getting splashed with gallons of red Gatorade.
Harkness was not so lucky.
Her hair was plastered to her face as she spluttered and laughed, trying to see who’d doused her.
Derek and Isaac, naturally.
The crowd had begun to spill onto the field with the team, and Ethan signed a few balls for fans as he looked for his family.
